Confessions Of A Fat, Ugly Slytherin
by Elektra3
Summary: Pansy Parkinson's difficult marriage with Draco Malfoy as seen through the eyes of Millicent Bulstrode. Sometimes it's easier to not be beautiful.
1. Makeup

Disclaimer: Not mine. Nuh-uh. I don't own Harry Potter.

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Pansy Parkinson always had the best makeup. Always had the most expensive blusher and eyeliner and lipstick and Anti-Pimple potion on hand. You-Know-Who could be knocking on the castle door, and Pansy would still pause to touch up on her makeup before she did anything else.

Millicent was grateful for that, in a way. Watching all of Pansy's elaborate rituals always made Millicent feel better about the fact that she was easily the ugliest girl in the year, if not the whole school. It was stupid to try and hide the fact with makeup, since she was convinced that nothing less than an act of God could cover up the fact that she was a large, heavyset girl with a face that only a mother gorilla could love. So she didn't begrudge Pansy her beauty. Nothing that difficult to maintain could be worth it.

Even if she seemed to enjoy it so much. Especially the hair. It was almost like a rowing competition, Millicent thought as she watched Pansy brush out her hair. _Stroke. Stroke. Stroke._ Except that crew teams didn't use spray bottles or any other kind of mysterious cosmetic condiment.

"Aren't you coming to the Yule Ball, Mil?" Blaize Zabini asked suddenly, putting the finishing touches on her own glorious crown of sleek black waves. "I know that you didn't get a date, but…"

Millicent snorted. "What, and spend the night relishing the fact that I'm the ugliest girl on the floor? Especially with that Veela slut there? No, I think I'll just spend the evening gnawing out my liver in private, thanks."

"It's not all about looks, Mil," Pansy said, spraying her blonde curls for the tenth time.

"Said the girl who's going with the best-looking boy in the year," Blaize said with one of her trademark predatory smiles. It was an innocent-sounding remark, but Blaize had obviously chosen it to cut to the bone, and looking at the subtle lines of tension on Pansy's face that had appeared below the makeup, Millicent knew that the other girl had scored a hit.

Pansy wasn't going to the Yule Ball with just any boy. Pansy was going to the Yule Ball with Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune and her fiancé in all but name.

"D'you want to go now?" she said to Blaize in a tense, sprightly voice.

Blaize slipped off her bed in her usual languorous fashion. "Yes, mustn't keep the boys waiting." She smiled at Millicent. "Have a good time, Mil."

Pansy, walking out the door with a steely simper planted firmly on her face, didn't say anything at all.

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The other Slytherins returned to the common room at midnight. Blaize wasn't back yet, (probably off snogging with some boy or another, Millicent thought disgustedly) but Pansy was there, stepping through the common room entrance on Draco's arm. Millicent watched through narrowed eyes as the other girl said goodnight to Draco and went up to the fourth year girls' dormitory, moving with the grim determination of someone who's just sustained a mortal wound but can't afford to collapse yet. After waiting a decent interval, Millicent got up and followed her.

Pansy was sitting on her bed, pink dress robes half-undone, staring off into space. "Pansy?" Millicent asked. "Are you okay?"

Pansy jumped, letting out a high, false laugh. "Oh! Hi, Mil. Yeah, I'm fine. I had a great time. A great time."

"Yeah, and Mudblood Granger failed a test last week." Millicent eyed Pansy critically. "Either someone spiked your butterbeer with Catatonia Potion, or something happened at the ball. Come on, Pansy. Don't bother trying to hide it. What happened that made you so upset?"

Pansy's face tightened, and then she wilted visibly. "I'm not sure, exactly. It's just – "

"Just what?"

"Just – " Pause. "It's sort of funny. I mean, I've known that my parents would arrange a marriage for me with Draco since I was six years old, but tonight – oh God, Mil, I was looking at him tonight and I realized, _I'm going to marry this boy_. I mean, I always knew it before, but – I'm fourteen years old, Mil! Fourteen years old! And I'm going to marry him after graduation. Two-and-a-half years from now! It's already planned out, Mil. Mum's already drawn up the guest list, and she's got a whole plan for the flowers and the cake and the decorations and which minister would be most socially advantageous to perform the ceremony and for all I know they've already started designing my wedding gown." She looked at Millicent with a hopeless expression. "I'm too young to get married, Mil."

"You still have some time."

"But not much. And you know what I really hate about it? It's not really about the fact that I'm getting married too young. It's more – oh, Mil, have you ever seen Narcissa? Not just looked at her and known that she was there, have you ever watched her? She's _dead_, Mil. There's nothing inside her now. They might as well have given her a Dementor's Kiss when she married Lucius. And I've seen pictures of her at school, Mil, she was beautiful, but it's gone now, dead and gone, and I don't want to end up like her, Mil, I don't want to die inside like she did."

"Pansy – "

"And my parents will never help me, they'll think it's such an _honor_ for me to be Draco Malfoy's wife, the lady of the manor, they'll never believe that I'm miserable there. God, Mil, what am I going to do? _I don't want to be another Narcissa!"_

"Then _don't_."

Pansy blinked through her tears. "What?"

"Don't let the same thing happen to you. Look at what happened to Narcissa and _use_ it." Millicent gave her a knife-edged grin. "We're Slytherins, Pansy. We use what we find. If you don't like what happened to Narcissa, then figure out what she did and then _do something else._ Don't just dither like a worthless Gryffindor."

"Mil!" Pansy shrieked, heaving a pillow at the other girl. "That's the most insulting thing I've ever heard in my life!"

Millicent caught the pillow and threw it back. "Glad you liked it. D'you know when Blaize is coming back? You'll probably want to be cleaned up before then. No need to let the All-Star Slut know that you've been crying." Her face softened. "It'll be all right, Pansy."

Pansy slumped back, looking lost. "I hope so," she said pensively. "You've got it easy. Not having a marriage arranged yet, I mean."

Millicent rolled her eyes. "That's because Mum hasn't found anybody who'll have me. Even my _name_ is awful. Millicent Bulstrode." She spat out the syllables. "That's not a name, it's a skin disease."

"Hey, maybe you can use that to convince your parents. 'I can't marry him or he'll catch the Millicent Bulstrode!'" She sniggered, but her laughter turned to tears again. "I wish I could keep the Malfoys away that easily."

"It'll be all right," Millicent said again, not sure what else to say. "You'll be all right. I'll always be there, for all the good it'll do you."

Pansy looked at her, wide-eyed. "Really?"

Millicent grinned at her. "Well, that depends. How much money are you offering for a permanent friend?"

Pansy threw another pillow. "You're a terrible, terrible person, Millicent Bulstrode. You wound my tender sensibilities horribly." She grinned back, her first real smile that evening. "Thanks, Mil."

Millicent rolled her eyes. "Go to bed, Pansy. It won't seem so bad in the morning."

"Words to keep in mind."

"Of course they are. Everyone is always inspired by my genius."

"You're so modest, too."

"I know. It's a burden I have to bear." Pause. "Night, Pansy."

"Night, Mil."


	2. In The Library

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! (Hell, thanks to everyone who read it.) I'm still not entirely sure where this is going to go, to tell you the truth (since it started out as a minor character study that clamped its sharp little plot bunny teeth down on my skull and then refused to let go), so I'm glad you liked the concept. I _know_ that there must be a lot more to the Slytherin girls than we see in most fics; people are complex creatures and these girls are no exception. Millicent in particular interested me, since I imagine it would take a great deal of inner strength to survive as an "ugly girl" in a House with social/sexual politics as intense as Slytherin's. The rest, as they say, is history. Oh, and before you get too confused with the timeline: this chapter takes place a year after the first one, in fifth year.

Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling. Therefore, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. Capiche?

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Two cubicles over from the one that Millicent and Pansy shared, Harry Potter leaned over and whispered something into Ginny Weasley's ear, making her laugh, while half-hidden behind one of the stacks Cho Chang watched them with an odd, closed expression. She continued to watch as the two Gryffindors got up and left the library, arm in arm, and her eyes were still fixed on the door long after it had closed behind them. Nudging Pansy slightly, Millicent murmured, "I wonder what Chang thinks of the future Mrs. Potter?"

Pansy set down her quill and looked over at Cho dismissively. "Huh. No contest there. I still can't understand why she ever hooked up with Pretty-Boy Diggory."

Interested, Millicent set down her own quill. "What d'you mean?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Oh, it's old news by now. Last year, Blaize heard from Lisa Turpin – you know, the skinny Ravenclaw in our year, the one with the heart-shaped birthmark on her arm – who heard from – "

"All right, I get the picture," Millicent cut in. "What did they hear?"

"Well," Pansy said after an impressive pause, "apparently Padma Patil heard Chang talking to her friends about Potter. So Padma told Turpin, and – "

"And Turpin told Blaize," Millicent impatiently. "What did they hear?"

Pansy shrugged. "Oh, just that she liked him. Nothing too earth-shattering. But then Diggory asked her to the Yule Ball before Potter did, and so she went with Diggory, and then she stayed with Diggory until he… well, until he died." She winced. "That sounds like the plot of a bad romance novel, doesn't it?"

"Did she ever talk to him? Potter, I mean?"

Pansy shrugged again. "Who knows? Probably not. You know how Ravenclaws are. And anyway, everyone knows how Potter used to practically walk into walls whenever she came within ten feet of him. If she had ever told him how she felt, he probably wouldn't have ever become Weasley's knight in shining armor." She punctuated the last words with a hearty sneer. "Of course, whether it's the sister or the brother is anybody's guess. I mean, have you ever wondered about just _how_ close their relationship is? They're practically joined at the hip."

Millicent snorted. "Honestly, Pansy, you can't judge everybody by Crabbe and Goyle."

"Or Finnigan and Thomas?" Pansy inquired sweetly.

Millicent stifled a snicker at the thought of what was easily Hogwarts' most flamboyant relationship. "True. But I was thinking of Granger. Haven't you ever seen how Weasley looks at her when he thinks that nobody's watching? It would be almost touching if it wasn't so sappy."

"Oh, right, the great Hogwarts Love Story." Pansy rolled her eyes derisively. "Anyway, Potter got together with Kid Sister Weasley, and now Chang's left spying on him from behind bookshelves. Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Mmmm," Millicent agreed absently. "I wonder why she never said anything?"

Another eye-roll. "Honestly, Mil, does anyone ever know why Ravenclaws do anything? Maybe it would have violated some obscure code of honor. Maybe she's not allowed to talk to anyone with green eyes. How should I know?"

Millicent looked at her with mock-horror. "You mean you _don't _know everything? God, Pansy, I'm shocked."

Pansy swatted her on the arm. "Shut up, you."

They grinned at each other.

"I'd better get back to this," Millicent said, picking up her quill again. "McGonagall's already given me an extension, and if I turn it in late she'll skin me alive."

"That _was_ a stroke of genius, though," Pansy said admiringly. "Getting the extension because you were in the infirmary, I mean. How did you ever make your skin flash turquoise and purple like that?"

Millicent smiled sweetly. "Trade secret."

"Thanks, Mil. It gives me such a warm, fuzzy feeling inside to know that you'll always share your feelings with me."

"Anytime."

As the two girls turned back to their homework, Millicent couldn't help but sneak the occasional glance at the still-staring Cho Chang. Her eyes had not moved once during their conversation, and when the two Slytherins had gotten up and were leaving the library, three hours later, her eyes were still fixed on the door.


	3. Haircut

I'm back! Sorry if the plot is moving too slow for your taste, but I have to build a strong foundation for the main story, since things are going to get _very_ intense in later chapters. (No, I'm not going to tell you what's going to happen. I _will_ be dropping hints right and left during the course of the story, but what you figure out in advance is totally up to you.)

Disclaimer: Sorry, darlings, but J.K. Rowling owns them – not me.

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Millicent set down the parchment she had been reading and stared at it with disgust. This wasn't happening. It couldn't possibly be happening.

"Pansy," she called, trying not to sound too desperate, "can I borrow Iris?"

Pansy looked up from her diary. Millicent had never really seen the merits of writing down your thoughts where they could be read by anyone with either the time or the inclination to browse through them, but Pansy seemed to enjoy it. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Well, so much for not sounding too desperate. "I need to owl St. Mungo's. My parents have gone insane."

Pansy looked amused. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. Remember that conversation we had after the Yule Ball? How I said that I'm not engaged yet because my mother couldn't find anyone who'd have me?"

"You mean…"

"Yeah," Millicent said grimly. "You're looking at the future Mrs. Crabbe." She closed her eyes, wishing that her sudden headache would go away. "I already pity our children."

"Honestly, Mil, you're not really that bad," Pansy said, sounding exasperated. "You're not the prettiest girl in the school, but you're not hideous either. And anyway, you're the smartest person I know. I swear, sometimes I think you should have been a Ravenclaw."

"Oh, so I'm not a proper Slytherin, either?" Millicent knew that Pansy hadn't intended the words to sound that way, but she felt like picking a fight. Anything to get her mind off marrying that… that… Australopithecine.

Pansy's face went cold. "I'm sorry if I offended Your Highness," she snapped. "Since you obviously don't want company, why don't you go off somewhere and try to punch a hole through the castle wall? It won't work, but it'll be _so_ therapeutic. Think of it as practice for when you're married to Vincie darling."

Millicent got up and curtseyed sarcastically. "Thanks for the suggestion, Your Magnificence." She stalked toward the door and slammed it shut with a satisfyingly resounding _whack!_, then walked toward the common room door, taking a childish pleasure in the unmistakable sound of a diary being thrown at one of the walls.

A bad mood was so much nicer when it was shared.

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"…So then she called the Ministry on me for haunting her, and that was the end of that," Myrtle finished with a gloomy flourish.

"That's awful," Millicent said automatically, trying to force her face into a modicum of sympathy. Having let her mind wander for the past hour or so, she actually had no idea what the sad-faced ghost's story had been about, but knowing Myrtle, it had probably been something depressing and/or doom-filled. They really got rather repetitive after awhile, but Myrtle seemed grateful that someone was taking the time to listen to her, even if the person wasn't listening very hard.

Actually, it wasn't a bad way to spend three hours.

"So what happened after that?"

"Well," Myrtle said impressively, "when the Ministry finally managed to exorcise me – oh, I put up such a fight I'm surprised it only took three years! – I…"

But she was cut off by the sound of footsteps outside the door, and someone fiddling with the knob. After a moment's thought, Millicent muttered a hasty Invisibility Charm and slipped behind the row of stalls for good measure; discretion, after all, was the better part of not having someone beat the crap out of you. Oh, it was remotely possible that Whoever-It-Was might have simply come to use the bathroom, but then again, it was also remotely possible that You-Know-Who might decide to give up his career as a Dark Lord and open a restaurant. _Nobody _ever went into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom without an ulterior motive – and even if they simply wanted some place to be alone, Millicent wasn't about to interfere without a damn good reason.

Besides, you could learn all sorts of fascinating things when people thought they were alone.

The door opened, followed by the sound of footsteps and the soft _thump_ of a bag being set down. And then – was that the sound of a pair of scissors being used? Curious to see who was cutting her hair at eleven o'clock at night, Millicent peered around the row of stalls.

Her eyes widened.

On her knees before a small, portable mirror, shoulders and back set rigidly, Cho Chang was cutting her hair one strand at a time, her face frozen in an expression of terrible concentration. Strand after strand after strand. Each fallen piece of hair no more than an inch long. She had obviously put some sort of Evening Charm on the scissors, but even that safeguard didn't diminish her concentration in the slightest.

Strand after strand after strand.

Shaking, Millicent ducked back behind the row of stalls. An Invisibility Charm didn't so much make you invisible as it made you part of the scenery, meaning that it could be broken by calling to attention to yourself, and she didn't want to blow her cover by being sick to her stomach. Because she recognized the look on Cho's face. Oh yes, she recognized it.

Having been in Slytherin for four-and-a-half years gave her ample experience in recognizing someone who had been tortured. Whether by herself or by other people was irrelevant.

Oh, it was subtle. Probably would seem unimportant to most other people – why make a big fuss if someone wants to cut their hair late at night? But it wasn't just about the hair. It wasn't even about the obsessive way she was cutting the hair. All the evidence Millicent needed was in the awful, set expression on Cho's face, as though cutting hair barely veiled a desire to cut flesh, as though in seeing the faint tracery of hair that fell on her arms was the way she imagined crimson lines of blood, vivid against her golden-brown skin. Millicent had only seen an expression like that a few times before, but each time stood out in her mind as she watched Cho cut her hair, strand by strand by strand. On Blaize's face, hearing that her parents had been killed by Aurors. On Draco's face, coming back after the Christmas holidays with the Dark Mark peeking out from under the left sleeve of his robes. On Narcissa Malfoy's face as she poured tea with a sweet, lifeless smile. On Snape's face, addressing the Slytherins at the end of fourth year. And on Millicent's own face, when she was seven years old and promised herself, after the boy next door called her a fat pig and pushed her face in the mud, that she would never cry again. All these faces passing through her mind, but none standing out as much, at this time and in this place, as the face of Cho as she cut her hair.

Strand after strand after strand.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Cho finished cutting her hair and swept the small pile of hair into the corners with a quick Banishing charm, where it would mingle with the dust. She then crept out the door, but not before Millicent had bolted into one of the stalls and was quietly, but thoroughly, sick.

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It was much later before Millicent finally made her way back to the Slytherin common room.

It was mostly empty now. A few people still lingered, most of them sleeping face-down over neglected homework assignments, but nobody took any notice as Millicent discreetly entered the common room or walked in the direction of the fifth-year girls' dormitories.

Inside, Blaize was sleeping peacefully, but Pansy looked up as Millicent entered and wryly said, "Feeling better now?"

Millicent flushed slightly. "Yeah… Look, I'm sorry I was being so difficult. I just needed to let off some steam and since you were convenient…" She trailed off, looking sheepish. "I'm sorry."

Pansy, however, waved off the apology. "It's all right," she said with a shrug. "I mean, if I just found out that I was going to marry Crabbe, I probably would've done a lot worse than you did. Besides, you've spent the past four-and-a-half years watching me and Blaize storm out of the room, so I guess you're entitled to do it once or twice."  
Millicent flopped on her bed, grinning. "Just once?"

Pansy grinned back. "Yeah," she said mock-severely. "So don't let me catch you doing it again, young lady!"

It would be all right, Millicent thought as she got into bed. No matter how distasteful being married to Crabbe would be, she would be all right. She could live with it. She would be all right. Now, if she could only erase the image of Cho cutting her hair…

Millicent was asleep before she finished the thought.


	4. Interlude: Dreaming

Meh. This chapter is a bit weird, even by my standards. Don't worry, things will get back to normal eventually…

Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's. I'm only torturing… er, writing about her characters for entertainment's sake. Also, I got Pansy's middle name from one of Geniusgirl's fics. (Blatant plug!) Everyone, go read Geniusgirl's fics!

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Millicent sat up and blinked.

The landscape around her looked like something out of a child's picture book, complete with a grassy meadow, a clear blue sky, and fluffy white clouds. She had no idea where she was, but it sure as hell wasn't the fifth year girls' dormitories.

"Milly Mil, Milly Mil, come over and play!"

Millicent swerved around in the direction of Pansy's voice. The other girl looked like she had gone back to being six years old, her chubby little face with none of the hardness that would eventually shape her adolescent appearance, but it was undoubtedly Pansy. But she looked so happy, happy as the older Pansy never had.

"Pansy?" Millicent said cautiously.

Pansy stomped her foot. "You're no fun," she complained, and turned her head. "Cho!" she called. "Cho, come over and play!" She turned back to Millicent, looking puzzled. "What's wrong, Milly Mil? Don't you want to see Cho? She's our bestest friend, even though she's dead."

"She's dead?" Millicent repeated blankly.

Pansy giggled. "Of course, silly! Her mummy didn't take away her scissors in time, and now she's dead dead dead dead dead. She can't see now, but she's so nice!"

"What do you mean, she can't – "

But Pansy's answer, if there was an answer coming, was stopped by the sight of a much younger-looking Cho.

Cho was smiling. She was barefoot, wearing a bright blue sundress; she looked so bright and cheerful, in fact, that it took Millicent a few moments to realize that her eyes were not eyes, but vacant, bloody sockets.

"Hi, Milly Mil!" she chirped, blood dripping down over her upper lip. "Come and play with us!"

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"…And then you arch your wrist just _so,_ and then you pour. Do you have all that, dear?"

"Yes, Mum," came Pansy's voice. "What happens if I spill?"

Millicent looked up slowly. Pansy was sitting at a table across from Narcissa Malfoy, a silver teapot and two delicate porcelain cups between them.

"Mum?" Pansy said again, smiling at Narcissa. "What happens if I spill the tea?"

Narcissa smiled back. "Then we'll burn you at the stake, dear."

Pansy sighed happily. "Oh, I'm so glad."

The door – _had there even been a door there before?_ – opened and Draco walked into the room. He was wearing a full suit of armor and carrying a sword, but neither Pansy or Narcissa seemed to think this was odd. Smiling, he said, "Hello, Mother. Hello, Pansy," before drawing his sword and chopping off Pansy's head.

Pansy's head rolled on the floor. Narcissa poured herself a cup of tea, her wrist arched just _so,_ and said nothing.

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She stood in a graveyard this time, ringed by a circle of robed, hooded wizards who could only be Death Eaters. A high, icy voice split the air.

"Pansy Dracaena Parkinson, you are accepted as a Death Eater."

Pansy stepped forward, her face alight with eagerness. "Yes, My Lord," she said, and held out her left arm. Smiling a cold, cruel smile, the Dark Lord pressed his hand against Pansy's arm and waited.

The air filled with the smell of burning flesh as Pansy began to scream.

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Millicent woke with a start.

She was breathing hard, as though she had just finished a long race, and her mouth was gaping open. _It was just a dream,_ she whispered to herself. _Just a dream.__Just. A. Dream._

But it was a long time before she fell back asleep.


	5. Connect the Dots

Sorry about the long delay, but I've had to make some changes to the outline. *moans despairingly* I don't get it. I just don't get it. It started out as a nice, manageable one-shot; then, as I started getting more and more interested in the characters, it jumped up to around five chapters, and things just went downhill from there. I honestly think that Millicent has taken up permanent residence in my brain. Oh, I can see it now:

"And Miss Bulstrode, never flitting, still is sitting, _still_ is sitting

deep within my fevered brainpan, permeating every pore;

all unseen, I know she's smirking, like a demon who is lurking,

for my muse, forever quirking, shall use dear Milly evermore,

and this Slytherin in my head who'll never saunter out the door

shall be dislodged – nevermore!"

Note to self: Do not read Edgar Allen Poe before writing fanfiction.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Same goes for Millicent, Pansy, and all the other Slytherins – however much I want to.

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With a nervous smile that Millicent didn't return, Susan Bones picked up her bag and made her way over to Millicent's table. "Hi," she said brightly, sitting down.

Millicent just grunted. She didn't really have anything against Susan, aside from the general irritation she felt toward most Hufflepuffs, but she wouldn't have wanted to talk even if she hadn't had a longstanding reputation as an antisocial troll to uphold. She needed to think about some things, and a jabbering Hufflepuff wasn't one of them.

Susan, however, had other ideas. "So," she began tentatively, "are you looking forward to the Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Mmph."

The other girl's lip quivered slightly, but she pressed on bravely. "I'm going to Honeyduke's. What about you?"

"Hmph."

"What's your favorite sweet? Mine's chocolate frogs."

"Grmph."

Fortunately for the continuation of both Susan's optimism and Millicent's sanity, Professor Flitwick chose that moment to begin to speak. "Does everyone have a partner from the other House?" he asked, beaming at them.

_No, we're just sitting like this because Slytherins and Hufflepuffs work so **well** together._ It had been one of Dumbledore's more inane ideas: to "foster school solidarity" by putting members of different Houses together in class projects, rather than letting them be paired with their Housemates. She didn't mind working with Ravenclaws, and it was really rather amusing to… interact with the Gryffindors (rumor had it that Neville Longbottom had been regularly going to the hospital wing for tranquilizers ever since being paired with her in Potions last week), but working with Hufflepuffs always made Millicent feel like she was putting on full armor and attacking a large pudding with a broadsword. There was just no _point._

"We're going to be working on the Balancing Charm today," the diminutive professor continued. He was still smiling. Idly, Millicent wondered how many Cheering Charms he had to cast on himself each day in order to achieve that neurotically happy effect. "Can anyone tell me what it is?"

On the other side of the room, Justin Finch-Fletchley's hand shot up. "It's used for making magical scales, Professor – Ow!" (Francis Nott, his partner, had just surreptitiously poked him in the stomach while fishing around for a spare quill.)

The smile dropped off of Flitwick's face slightly. Huh. Maybe she'd been wrong about the Cheering Charms. Then again, Francis' habitual idiocy – honestly, poking him in the stomach? How childish could you get? – was usually enough to put a serious damper on any amount of good cheer. "That's not funny, Mr. Nott," he said crisply. "Ten points from Slytherin."

Francis straightened, quill in hand. "What's not funny, Professor?" he asked innocently. "I was just getting a quill."

A faint snigger skittered through the classroom. Pansy, sneeringly paired with Ernie Macmillan, shared an elegant, derisive smirk with Draco, who then rolled his eyes innocently skyward and began twiddling his thumbs while his partner, Hannah Abbot, looked on nervously. Blaize, meanwhile, was ignoring the entire incident, although she was taking advantage of the lull offered by the momentary confusion by engaging in her favorite pastime – boy-baiting – and shooting sultry looks at her partner, Stephen Moon, who didn't seem entirely sure whether to be attracted, flattered, or utterly terrified; whereas Crabbe and Goyle (much to the relief of their relatively tiny partners) merely sat back in their chairs with the serenely confused bliss of the mentally deficient.

Finally, after about thirty seconds, Flitwick rapped sharply on his desk. Beside her, Millicent heard Susan breathe a quiet sigh of relief. "That's enough," he said, somehow managing to make his normal squeak sound dignified. "Mr. Finch-Fletchley, will you continue?"

"Er," Finch-Fletchley began intelligently. He seemed to have lost his train of thought. "Doesn't it even out the weights of different objects?"

Flitwick beamed, apparently having regained his good humor. "Yes, that's exactly correct. Five points to Hufflepuff. Does anyone know any other uses?" He glanced around the classroom expectantly. When no answer came, he glanced around again and, rather surprisingly, turned to Millicent. "Miss Bulstrode?"

__

Oh, God. Not again. She always tried not to do any better in class than she absolutely had to – people usually seemed to think that an ugly body housed a defective mind, and since first disabusing every single one of them of the notion and then soothing away their astonishment would have taken up a lot of time and exasperating effort, she simply didn't bother – but every so often one of the teachers made an effort to "bring her out of her shell." It usually wasn't all that difficult to deflect these attempts, reputation of stupidity intact, but it was certainly irritating.

Fortunately, this time she had a natural advantage: She honestly didn't know. "Errrr…" she said after a decent pause, putting on her best "stupid troll" expression.

Flitwick looked faintly suspicious, but moved on. "Miss Bones?"

There was a slight pause, and when Susan finally answered it was in a quiet, hesitant voice quite unlike her normal tones. "Er, I'm not completely sure about this," she began haltingly, "but don't some people use it to counteract spells that unbalance the emotions? My mum told me… about the Anguish Curse… things like that…" Her voice trailed off, and her shoulders hunched. Millicent gave a quick glance in her direction, and was surprised to see that Susan's eyes were starting to fill up with tears.

Apparently Flitwick noticed it too, because he abruptly changed the subject, passing out a set of balancing scales and various objects to each pair and taking them through the steps of the spell, then instructing them to practice evening out the weights of the different objects. Millicent barely listened, though, not even caring much when Susan tentatively poked her in the arm and said that it was time to start; as she halfheartedly picked up her wand and began prodding various objects, she was simply too preoccupied to care.

So… there were curses that affected the mind as well as the body. She'd always suspected that was the case – the Cruciatus Curse, after all, was essentially a very intense burst of purely psychosomatic pain, which was why there were no physical effects – but she'd never really looked into it; she'd never been particularly interested in becoming a psychologist, after all. But now it was confirmed. The only question was, what did it prove?

Well, that Anguish Curse sounded fairly nasty, but it was still a vague title. What, exactly, did it do? She'd have to look into it. Find out what the effects were. See if it only produced depression or if it could be varied to other disorders. See if it could be used to make someone start to behave oddly – as oddly as staring at a door for three hours straight or cut her hair strand by strand in the middle of the night… Damn it!

She still couldn't understand why what she had seen last night in the girls' lavatory had effected her so much. Why she suddenly cared about what was happening to Cho. No – that wasn't quite true. It hadn't started last night. It had started months ago, ever since the term had begun and she had noticed something… off in the Ravenclaw's eyes and expressions and behavior. Something subtly, inexplicably wrong. Not a conscious observation, simply filing it away like she filed away everything she noticed – until that meek little mental file had taken up permanent residence in her brain, and she discovered that something about Cho's pain had pricked her; even though she had never even made eye contact with the other girl, much less spoken to her, she was surprised (and a little chagrined) to find that after last night, she wasn't about to let the matter go without finding out what the hell was going on. Irrational? Oh, absolutely. But Millicent had discovered at a very young age that it was rather futile to try to argue with your brain once it had decided on something. Meaning that she was stuck with trying to figure this out.

Which still left her absolutely nowhere.

No. Negative thought. Focus.

__

Was Cho's condition magically imposed? She still wasn't entirely sure, although it would make a great deal more sense than the alternative; she didn't know the other girl well, and therefore had no basis upon which to figure out whether or not it would make sense for Cho to react as she had without outside interference. Which meant that she had to get some reliable information, and fast.

How?

Well, the most obvious solution would be to make some inquiries herself. Blaize was fairly close to Lisa Turpin, who was a Ravenclaw, and if she asked Lisa…?

No. Lisa, from what she had seen, wasn't terribly close to Cho, meaning that Lisa would have to do some surreptitious poking around herself, which meant two things: First, she would owe Lisa, which she didn't want. Second, Lisa was well-connected to the Hogwarts gossip mill and would therefore start with her equally well-connected friends, meaning that enlisting her would increase the probability of everyone and their third cousin's dog finding out that Millicent Bulstrode was asking questions about Cho Chang. Which she _definitely_ didn't want. Any unnecessary attention would destroy any chance of effectively analyzing and/or fixing the situation; furthermore, if it really was caused by magic, she didn't want to alert whoever cast the spell.

Actually, she realized, it didn't make any sense to ask directly. Using someone else to ask for her would be far safer. Which meant that she couldn't approach anyone from either Slytherin or Ravenclaw, owing to the higher possibility of exposure; ergo, she would need a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor. Someone with intelligence, too, which – she gave Susan a sidelong glance – ruled out the Hufflepuffs. Someone with discretion as well. Someone with strong research abilities. Someone close to Cho in age. And, most importantly, someone who the average Hogwarts student (or faculty member, for that matter) would never, _ever_ suspect of working with Millicent Bulstrode. Which, judging from her past experience and her general knowledge of the Gryffindors, could only mean…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Granger."

The other girl looked up, smiling bravely, although Millicent noticed a faint hint of panic in her eyes. It was late, after all, and they were far enough away from the librarian's desk that a shout would take some time to travel there. But Granger still managed to quickly mask any uneasiness she felt and politely respond, "Millicent." In spite of herself, Millicent was rather impressed.

She'd spent some time working out how she was going to approach Granger, but eventually concluded that the most effective way would be to speak as honestly as possible. It meant that she would have to blow her cover of stupidity, but that was a small loss when compared to getting Granger to help her. Besides, that was the beauty of it, even if Granger let anything slip – who would ever believe that she would willingly approach a Gryffindor Mudblood? So she gave Granger a knowing look and said, "Don't worry – I usually try to cut down on the physical mayhem in the library. It's always so difficult to get bloodstains out of parchment." When Granger looked startled, she laughed quietly. "It's all right. You can say it."

Granger blinked. "Say what?"

Millicent let her jaw drop, and, mimicking the tones of a credulous first year, gasped, "You can _talk?"_

Granger flushed. "I didn't – "

"Yes, you did. It's a perfectly natural reaction."

"To what?"

"To the fact that I'm ugly and fat, of course. What did you think it was?"

"I think," Granger said in a slightly unsteady voice, "that you're being unfair. People aren't that shallow."

Millicent shrugged. "What's so shallow about assuming that I'm stupid? _You_ certainly did."

Granger stared at her for a few moments, mouth working slightly. Then, in a calmer tone no doubt developed from four-and-a-half years of helping Longbottom in Potions, she said, "Do you want something?"

If Millicent hadn't been consciously trying to keep a straight face, she would have smiled. As it was, she looked at Granger seriously, all traces of irony dropping from her face. "I need your help on an extra-credit project." There. Let her chew on that.

Granger blinked again. "What?"

"An extra-credit project." She gave the other girl a meaningful look. "One that I don't want anyone else to find out about. And that includes Potter and Weasley."

Interest sparked in Granger's eyes, but she stayed wary. "Why come to me?"

"Because nobody would ever believe it."

__

Pause. Then, still cautious, "What do you need to know?"

Millicent smiled, meeting Granger's eyes fully for the first time since she'd started the conversation. "What do you know about the Anguish Curse?"


End file.
